The Shadow's Guardian
by arack14
Summary: This is a fanfiction of The Fallen Moon trilogy by K.J. Taylor. DON'T READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE TRILOGY! I'M SERIOUS! Anyways, a teenage boy on Earth named Mark is pulled into the Fallen Moon trilogy. He soon realizes that he was destined for much more than he thought, and that his background and heritage may be completely different than he was led to believe.
1. Prologue

**Introductory A/N: So! A new story, yay! I don't really have a reason for doing this, other than the fact that I just had the idea a few days ago and I'm eager to get started on it, even though I don't really want to be working on two stories at the same time. But oh well! It's worth it. So anyways, this is a fic of a series you've probably never heard of, much less read. It's called the Fallen Moon series, and it was actually written by Opifex the Singer (read her fics and the Fallen Moon/Risen Sun trilogies; both are worth your time.). In any case, it's not the most well-known series out there, but I really liked it and wanted to do a fanfic on it. And you don't have to worry about me not posting A New Order, I'll probably alternate chapters of the stories from here on out. **

** WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE FALLEN MOON TRILOGY. GO READ IT RIGHT NOW! I'm serious, you won't understand anything unless you read the series.**

** Also, in conjunction with the book, the letters "dd" are pronounced "th". Thus "Arenadd" would be pronounced as "Arenath."**

** Anyways, I hope you like it, and please don't forget to review!**

** Disclaimer: You know the drill; content from the Fallen Moon belongs to K. J. Taylor, not me. **

** P.S. Sorry I haven't posted a chapter of IC V in a while, I was on Christmas break and didn't really want to do it. Plus I was working on this, so yeah. But chapter 10 should be posted not too long after this goes up. **

* * *

PROLOGUE

Mark sighed and put down _The Griffin's War_. It was a good book, but it left many questions unanswered. He was eager to get his hands on a copy of the first book in the next series.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed, feeling the hammock gently sway in the cool morning breeze. It was spring in New York City, and the temperature was blissfully moderate: not too hot, not too cold, but just right. Lying on the hammock in a t-shirt and shorts, reading a good book while swinging in the breeze… that was Mark's paradise. As a teenage boy, he needed something to do during spring break, and since the city was tremendously busy, Mark preferred to spend his free time in his hammock.

But unfortunately, his tranquil reverie didn't last long. "Mark!" a voice called. He made a face – it was his mom, and most likely, she had some sort of chore she wanted him to do. Mark ignored her and tried to relax again. He reached up and smoothed a section of his brown hair.

A few minutes later, he heard a small noise. He opened his eyes and glanced at the garden table, where the _Fallen Moon_ trilogy sat. He thought it was his imagination, but he could have sworn that _The Dark Griffin_ had been in a different position just a few minutes ago.

Mark climbed out of the hammock and cautiously approached the book. Some innate instinct of his had kicked in, and he was on the alert for any sign of danger.

There it was again! Sure enough, as he was watching it, the small, paperback book gave a twitch, as if it wanted to be opened.

He frowned. _That's a silly thought_, he told himself, but even his inner voice didn't sound convinced.

Very tentatively, Mark reached down and picked up the book. It twitched again in his hand, and at that point he was sure.

He inched the cover open. But the book suddenly jerked itself open in his hands, as if it had a life of its own. Inside, a dark blot had appeared in the margin. He tried to wipe it away, but the instant his finger came into contact with the blot, it stuck. He attempted to pull it out, but it was no good. His finger wouldn't budge.

The blot was growing, expanding outwards, and as it did, swirling patterns of silver became visible within the inky blackness, like an oily whirlpool. And as it grew, the vortex began to pull him in. Already, Mark's hand was lost up to the wrist.

Mark began to panic. He tried to call out to his parents, to anybody that could hear him, but his voice didn't work. He tried and tried and tried, but not a sound came out.

A great flash of white light blinded him, and then the whirling inky vortex swallowed him.


	2. Chapter 1: An Impossible Situation

** Just a quick note: some sections could end up being almost exactly word-for-word, and I'm sorry about that. Sometimes it's necessary. Addressing another subject: you might think that writing two stories simultaneously would be a bad thing, but I think it will help me. How, you ask? Well, if I lose momentum on one story, I can just switch to the other for a while. In fact, for the moment, I kind of grew a bit tired of A New Order, which is why I started this (well, that and the fact that I just really love the series!). But if I lose steam on this fic, then I'll do another cluster of IC V chapters. I AM still going to try to alternate posting chapters, though. Also, I forgot to mention earlier that this fic will be organized into three parts, one for each book in the trilogy. **

** Please read and review, as always! Enjoy! **

* * *

_**PART 1: THE DARK** **GRIFFIN**_

* * *

AN IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION

The first thing Mark saw when he woke up was a face. It seemed vaguely familiar, but he didn't think he'd ever seen it before. It was pale and angular, with a mane of long, curly black hair and a neatly-trimmed, pointed beard, also black. The eyes, though, were the most startling feature; they were black, and seemed to bore into his very soul.

When Mark saw them his sense of familiarity increased, and now he thought he recognized who the face might be. And if he was right, then he had a very big problem. A chill of fear began to creep towards his heart.

When the man saw that Mark was awake, he grinned. "Nice of you to join us," he quipped. Mark looked around and saw that he was in a small house. He was lying in – of all things! – a hammock that hung between two walls. There was a torch in a bracket on one wall, and a lamp sat on the room's solitary table, casting its light throughout the room.

Mark sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the hammock. As he started to climb out, the man started to grab him to steady him, but Mark waved him away. That was when he got his first look at the rest of the man. Unfortunately, that look only increased his suspicion, and thus his fear.

The man was tall and thin, almost lanky, and like his face, the rest of skin was deathly pale. His fingers were long and spindly. The man said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Arren. Arren Cardockson." He held out his hand, but Mark had frozen. The fear in his heart exploded, and he fell to his knees, crying out. Arren looked concerned. "Are you alright? Do you want to get back in the hammock?"

Mark ignored him. "How did this happen?" he muttered to himself. "I'm… inside it… the series… how can I get home? How…?" He continued for several more seconds until he pulled himself together and faced Arren, rising from his knees. "Where did you find me?" he demanded.

Arren winced. "You were passed out in the street, in front of my house," he explained. "I went out for a walk, and when I got back, you were there. I brought you inside and tried to wake you, but you wouldn't respond. I was starting to think you were in a coma or something when you opened your eyes."

_Somehow, I'm inside the Fallen Moon trilogy_, Mark thought. _But how?_ He had no idea how something like this was possible, but it was clear that that was indeed what had happened when the strange, black vortex had appeared in his book. Mark frowned and glanced out the window. "What time is it?" he asked.

"A few hours after moonrise," Arren answered.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No."

Mark nodded. "I think we got off on the wrong foot." He held out his hand. "I'm Mark." When Arren clasped his hand, Mark remembered the traditional griffiner's greeting from the books, and both men gave a small tug with their hands.

Arren smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mark." He gestured to something propped against the wall. "That bundle was next to you when I found you," said Arren.

Mark glanced over at it, noticing how the dim light sparkled off what appeared to be cloth of some sort. He walked over to investigate it, and soon realized that it was a silver cloak. But then he noticed there was something under it.

He lifted the cloak off and gasped as a sheathed sword was revealed. The scabbard was a glossy silver, flecked with specks of gold. The metal shone with a radiant brilliance. The hilt that protruded from the sheath was obviously wooden but coated with a layer of gold and wrapped in leather that was dyed the same sterling silver as on the scabbard. The pommel was set with a beautiful amethyst gem. Mark bent down and picked up the sword, almost reverently. He gripped the handle and pulled it from its sheath.

The blade, now unveiled, was iridescent silver. When Mark tilted the blade, the color shifted, revealing a hint of amber buried with the waves of stunning silver. Mark lifted the sword and experimentally swung it around a few times, marveling at how light and natural it felt. The hilt fit his hand perfectly, and the sword felt as if it had been made specifically for him, and by a master smith at that.

Arren's eyes widened when Mark drew the sword. His mouth fell open, and for a moment he couldn't find any words. Luckily for him, he was spared from responding.

At that moment, a large white beast came striding through an archway to their left. It had scaly forelegs and beautiful, snowy wings. Its front and hindquarters were covered in white and grey feathers. The talons on its front paws were sharpened to wicked points and serrated on the inner edge.

Mark stared in awe. _I never knew an animal could be so… incredible!_ he thought. _I mean, I knew griffins were amazing, but actually seeing one in person…_ he shook his head to himself. Arren walked up to the beast, murmuring a few words that Mark couldn't hear. Then he turned back to him. Arren said, "Mark, this is Eluna, my partner. Eluna, this is Mark."

Eluna made a series of strange clicks and noises to Arren, and Mark knew they were speaking griffish. And inexplicably, he could understand it.

"You don't even know who he is," Eluna was saying. "He could be a threat. You know nothing about him!"

"I don't think he means us harm," Arren replied. "He hasn't done anything to give me cause to think that, anyways. And look at his hair. It's not as dark as a Northerner's, but it isn't nearly as light as a Southerner's. His eyes are grey, too. He may not even be from Cymria."

"Then that is all the more reason to distrust him!" said Eluna.

Arren shook his head. "How about I just ask him?" He turned back to Mark, who had been waiting patiently during the exchange. He tried to pretend that he hadn't understood their conversation; Mark didn't want Arren asking questions that he couldn't answer.

"Where are you from?" asked Arren. "You don't look like you're from around here, and your accent is strange, but you speak Cymrian flawlessly."

Mark tried to think of a way he could dodge the question without making Arren suspicious. Choosing his words carefully, he responded with, "If you wouldn't mind, I'd prefer to keep my secrets to myself." Arren's eyes hardened, and he felt compelled to add, "But I don't have anything against Northerners, or anyone else for that matter. I've heard your story, and I don't care what anyone else says; if a griffin chooses a Northerner, that's their decision to make, and the Southerners should respect that. In my eyes, your race doesn't make you any less of a griffiner."

Arren's eyes softened. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that. Unfortunately, there aren't enough people who think that way. To most of the griffiners, it's an abomination for a blackrobe to be a griffiner. They can't stand it." Eluna hissed her affirmation.

Mark nodded. "The world is a cruel place," he agreed. "But where I come from, no-one is treated unfairly simply because of their race or their heritage. Everyone is equal." Arren's eyes widened. "Would you mind if I stayed with you?" Mark continued. "I don't have any money for an inn, and I don't know anybody else in Eagleholm that I could stay with."

Arren considered the question for a moment, swiftly conversing with Eluna in griffish. Soon enough, he returned his attention to Mark and nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem, but I hope you don't mind sleeping in a hammock."

Mark smiled. "Actually, I prefer it."

Arren paused, then smiled as well. "Glad to hear it. I'll just put another one up for you then…" Working quickly, Arren strung up another hammock. With this addition, the room became decidedly more crowded, and Eluna had to retreat to her own section of the house because there wasn't room for her in Arren's room. When Arren finished, Mark thanked him and gratefully climbed into the hammock.

Sleep did not come as easily as he would have liked. For a long time he lay awake, worrying about his parents back on Earth. Sudden despair crashed down on him. _What if I never see them again?_ he cried in his mind. _What if I can't get back to Earth?_ After a while, though, he calmed down. He realized that there really wasn't much point in worrying about it; either he would be able to get home or he wouldn't. If he had the opportunity, he would take it, but until then, he'd just do his best to survive in Cymria. After all, there was no use fretting over things that were out of his control.

After that, Mark was finally able to relax, and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Mark was awakened by an unearthly screech that could only have been made by a griffin. He groaned and opened his eyes, doing his best to rouse himself.

Arren's voice pounded in his ears. "Up, up, up! We've got an exciting day today!"

Still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Mark climbed out of his hammock. He declined the clothes that Arren offered him, instead opting to keep wearing his current outfit of silvery satin breeches and grey tunic. At Arren's order, he strapped his sword onto his back and put on his cloak overtop of it in an attempt to hide it; he didn't want the sword's magnificence attracting unwanted attention.

Once he was ready to go out, he turned to Arren. "What are we doing today, then, that's so exciting we have to be up before the sun?" Mark grumbled, though he already had an idea.

"First of all," Arren began, "the sun has, in fact, been up for quite a while. As for today… well, since you've heard of me, you may or may not know that I'm Master of Trade here at Eagleholm." Mark nodded; thanks to _The Dark Griffin_, he did indeed know that. "That means that part of my job deals with the smuggling of goods in and out of the city. Today, I'm meeting some of the guards and we're doing a raid of a smuggler's den we've been observing. I'd like you to come with me." Mark had suspected as much, but he was honestly a bit surprised that Arren wanted him along.

"Why?" asked Mark. "I'm a stranger that you barely know, and you have no idea of my abilities or whether or not I'm dangerous to you."

"Exactly," Arren confirmed. "I want you with me for two main reasons: so that I can judge your abilities and the sincerity of your sentiments, and so I can start getting to know you. I have a feeling you're going to be staying with me for a while."

Mark had to give him credit; he'd though it out well. "Okay then," Mark said cheerfully. "Shall we go?"

"We shall."

Mark followed Arren and Eluna through the city until they came to one of the Guard Towers. A broad, burly man was standing at the head of a group of soldiers, waiting for them outside the Tower doors.

"Arren!" the big man boomed. "Glad yeh made it on time. I thought yeh'd oversleep." He gave a wide, gap-toothed grin. Then he pointed at Mark. "Who's that with yeh?"

"Bran, this is Mark," said Arren. "He's a new friend. Mark, this is my friend Bran. He's one of the Captains of the Guard."

Bran nodded to Mark. "Nice to meet yeh, Mark."

Mark inclined his head in return. "And you as well, Captain."

Bran looked at Arren. "We're ready to go, sir," he said.

Arren nodded. "Good, good. Let's head out, then."

Bran turned around to face the other guards. "Alright, you lot," he shouted, "let's get goin'. Just follow Arren and Eluna." The soldiers formed into a loose rank and marched off into the city, following behind Arren, Eluna, Mark, and Bran.

As they were walking, Mark spent some time talking to Bran. The burly guard seemed to like him, and Mark had to admit he was quite fond of Bran in return.

"Have yeh done this kinda thing often?" Bran asked Mark, who shook his head.

"Never, in fact," he responded with a small grin. "But from what I hear, this'll be a good learning experience."

Bran chuckled. "Yeh've got no idea, lad."

At one point during the conversation, Mark looked to his left and saw Arren watching him intently, but the Northerner looked away as soon as he saw Mark looking at him.

Arren and Eluna led the group into the large residential section that backed onto the market district. The house, when they got to it, was made of stone and looked like it belonged to someone fairly wealthy. The windows were glass, and the doors and frame were freshly painted. There was even a feeble attempt at a garden out front.

Bran whistled as he laid eyes on it. "Bloody bastard thinks he's a lord, does he? Must've had this racket goin' pretty long," he observed.

"Yes, and he would have had it going a lot longer if he hadn't decided to spend some of the profits on his house," said Arren. "Come on, let's go in."

Bran signaled to some of his guards. They detached from the main group and headed around to the back of the house, positioning themselves so that they would be able to block any ill-advised escape attempts.

Arren, Bran, and Mark, meanwhile, walked up to the front of the house. Eluna took up station next to the front door. The three humans, and the rest of the guards that were behind them, quietly drew their swords. Some of them uttered soft exclamations when they saw Mark's, but a quick look from Bran quieted them.

Arren tested the door and found it unlocked. He turned the knob and opened the front door. "I'll go first," Mark volunteered, but Eluna pushed past all of them and sat down on her haunches in the entrance hall.

"I shall wait here, and listen," the griffin declared. "I do not think you will have much trouble." Arren nodded, and the rest of the group filed into the house.

Once inside, Bran dispatched some of the guards to search the house. He, Arren, and Mark marched into the house's main room.

A man and a woman were sitting at a large table, eating breakfast. They looked up sharply when the group entered. "Don't make any sudden moves, you two," Arren warned. "You're under arrest."

The man stayed stock-still, but the woman stood up so quickly she knocked her chair over. It landed with a resounding thud. "What is this?" the woman demanded. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What did I just say about sudden moves?" said Arren, annoyed but a little amused. "And I think that what I'm doing is arresting you and your husband. Hold out your hands." She didn't move. Arren sighed. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way, then." He nodded to Bran.

The big guard reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of manacles. He stepped towards the woman. She drew back, but Bran grabbed her wrists and roughly snapped the manacles shut around them.

More guards hurried into the room. "We didn't find anyone else on this floor, sir," one said.

The man at the table still hadn't moved. "I demand to know what is going on!"

"Are you Craddick Arnson?" asked Arren.

"Yes, what's happening?"

"You're under arrest for smuggling and dealing in stolen goods," Arren informed him.

The man made a small attempt to resist the guards that came forward to seize him, but he was overpowered and manacled in moments.

"Now, could you show me where the cellar door is? Or are we going to have to do that the hard way, too?" Arren looked challengingly between the husband and wife.

"Of course, I'll show you," the woman said.

Craddick tried to stop her. "Rose –,"

"What?" she interrupted sharply. "You haven't done anything, and the sooner we get this over with, the better."

Arren nodded to Bran once more, and he let go of the woman. She led them to a back room filled with a myriad of crates and boxes. She guided them to one particular box and pointed at it. "It's under that," she said.

Bran easily heaved the crate aside, exposing the wooden trapdoor underneath. "Get her out of here," said Arren, gesturing at Rose. "I'm going in."

He opened the trapdoor and started down a short flight of stairs. Before he got too far, Mark handed him a lantern. Then he waited for the inevitable.

Sure enough, there was a loud crash, and then two men bolted out of the cellar with Arren hot on their heels. Bran and the guards quickly caught one of them, but the other slipped through and dashed out of the room. Arren and Mark chased him all the way, but he was ahead of them. Arren tripped and nearly fell, and then –

Eluna was there. The white griffin burst into the room, screeching at the smuggler. He screamed and tried to run, but Eluna pounced on him. Her beak struck the back of the man's neck, killing him instantly. But Eluna didn't leave it at that. With a horrible wrenching motion, she tore the man's arm off and swallowed it whole.

Arren strode toward her. "Stop that!" he shouted.

Eluna hissed warningly. Arren came up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Stop it," he said again. She ignored him and continued eating. Arren smacked her on the head. "_I said stop it!_"

Suddenly, Eluna lashed out. Her beak scored an ugly wound on Arren's arm. He hit her again. "Eluna, no!"

For a moment she stared at him, hissing and growling, her beak dripping blood. He stared back, ignoring the running down his arm. Everyone watched with bated breath, not daring to move.

But then Eluna looked away and sullenly abandoned the half-eaten corpse. Mark grabbed some cloth bandages from Bran and rushed forward, hurriedly binding them around the gash in Arren's arm.

When he was finished, Arren calmly walked over to Eluna and stroked her under the beak, muttering something. She crooned softly. "It's alright," Arren said. "We're alright now." Arren took his hand away and turned to Craddick. For a moment he regarded him with a cold, calculating expression, similar to the one Eluna had worn moments earlier. Then, all of a sudden, he stepped forward and punched Craddick in the jaw. The prisoner reeled back, stunned, only to be hauled back upright by the guards holding him. Mark and Bran looked at each other and grinned. "How about you start telling us the truth now, smuggler?" Arren snarled. "How many other people are down there?"

The last of Craddick's defiance had gone. "There's no-one," he mumbled. "The others don't come here much. Just when – to bring in the new stuff, and when –,"

"You will give us their names," said Arren, "and anything else you know about them. But first, you're going to give my friends and I a tour of your cellar." He turned Craddick towards the door and pressed the point of his sword into the smuggler's back. "Let's go."

He had been telling the truth; there were no other people in the cellar. But there were plenty of other things to keep the group interested. There were hundreds of boxes, stacked everywhere. There sacks and baskets, barrels and bags, enough goods to stock a fair chunk of the marketplace.

Once Arren, Mark, and Bran had explored the cellar and made absolutely certain that there were no people hiding there, they summoned the rest of the guards. "Search the place," Bran ordered. "We want to know what we're dealin' with here."

Craddick could only watch resignedly as the boxes were levered open and the sacks were slit. There were all kinds of things: grain, dried meat, fruits and vegetables, clothes, wine, beer, herbs, pots and pans, even a bag of illegal whiteleaf, hidden in a hole in the wall.

"Seems like a pretty sweet business you had running down here," saidArren. "Would you care to tell me a little about your methods? I'm always happy to learn, especially from the best."

Craddick spat. "Go back to the North, blackrobe."

Bran hit him. "Shut up!"

Arren laughed. "I'd rather be a Northerner than a criminal, Craddick. Last I checked, it was smugglers who went to prison, not blackrobes. Take him away."

The guards started to haul Craddick away, but as they did, Mark thought he caught something odd. Some expression in his face. Something not quite right. "Wait!" he called.

Arren had noticed it too. He froze.

"What is it, sir?" said Bran.

Arren held up a hand to silence him. He was listening intently. Then, suddenly, he turned and crossed the room in two long strides, to a spot in the corner, where there was a box draped in cloth. He pulled it away.

"Oh my gods."

It was not a box. It was a cage. Inside, a pair of yellow eyes peered out at him. There was a rustle of wings, and a beak poked through the bars. "Food?" a young griffish voice chirped.

Arren turned slowly and gave Craddick a menacing look. The smuggler quailed. "Craddick Arnson, you're in a lot of trouble."


	3. Chapter 2: Foreboding

** I'm sorry I keep doing this instead of IC V guys, I know most people would prefer I do IC, but I'm just not up to it. I have REALLY lost steam on it, so yeah… sorry. Anyways, enjoy and please review!**

** Also, huge thanks go out to Ms. KJT herself for editing and just being there to bounce ideas off of... yer da best! **

* * *

FOREBODING

The rest of the raid was fairly straightforward. Once Craddick and his wife and been escorted out and sent off to the prison district, Mark helped Arren and the guards to empty out the cellar. They carried the goods into the dining room, shoving the furniture out of the way, but in the end there were so many crates that they were forced to stack some of them in the front garden. A crowd of people gathered to watch, and Bran sensibly thought to post a pair of guards to keep them from looting the contents of the crates. Eluna stayed with them, watching the onlookers menacingly. Two other guards bundled up the dead man in a pair of sacks and quietly removed him through the back door. His body would go to the prison district to be searched and then kept safely until his family came to collect him.

The cage containing the griffin chick was one of the last things to be carried out. Arren insisted on taking it personally. The chick looked well enough: undernourished and sensitive to the light, but uninjured. Arren fed it some dried meat from a sack. "How long have they kept you down there?" he muttered.

Bran noticed that blood was starting to soak through the bandage on Arren's arm. "Yeh should see a healer about that, sir."

"I'll be fine," said Arren. He straightened up. "I'm going to have to take this chick back to the hatchery, and fast. Can I leave you to go through this stuff?"

"Yeh sure can, sir," said Bran. "I'll pick out a few things for yeh and send 'em along to your place, how about that?"

Arren paused, then smiled. "Thanks, Bran."

"I'll make sure there's some oranges," Bran added with a wink and a grin.

"Thanks. And if there's any decent leather there, I'll take some of that, too."

"Righto, sir." Bran glanced at the floor, where the dead man's blood was soaking into the wood. "There'll be an inquiry about this, sir."

"I know. Leave me to deal with that." Arren picked up the cage. "But I seriously doubt that Rannagon – or anyone else, for that matter – will care what happens to a griffin thief."

"I agree, sir."

Arren left via the front door, carrying the covered cage in his arms. Mark went with him. Eluna was waiting there and silently fell in beside them. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the hatchery."

She fluttered her wings, apparently pleased. "I must say I have wanted to see Keth again. But I don't think that's reason enough to go, so why are we going?"

Arren looked grim. "Those men stole a griffin chick. We have to take it back."

Eluna stopped dead. Arren and Mark watched her warily. She nosed at the cage. "I can smell – "

Arren wordlessly lifted the cloth, revealing the chick. It peered out at Eluna, and she laid her back against its beak. Then she looked at the two humans, who stared back stonily.

Eluna screamed. The noise was loud and furious, and she reared up and screamed again. "_Thieves! Scum!_"

Arren patted her to calm her down. "I know, Eluna, I know. It's all right, we got them." Arren pulled the cloth back over the cage and walked on, trying to hold it steady as the chick shifted inside.

The hatchery was on the edge, next to the market district. Even if they hadn't known the way there, it would have been fairly easy to locate, thanks to the dozens of griffins flying over it.

The hatchery itself consisted of a collection of wooden buildings, which were some of the biggest in the city. They had to be. Around them there were pens full of animals – goats, for the most part – feeding on racks of hay. The griffins circled lazily overhead, enjoying the morning sun. Most of them were young, smaller than Eluna. The air was full of their screeching voices and the bleating of the goats.

Arren, Eluna, and Mark went along the walkway between the pens. A man paused in the act of refilling one of the water troughs and waved. "Hello, Arren. Nice to see you here again." He looked at Mark. "And you… my lord," he added uncertainly, then turned back to Arren and nodded at the covered cage. "What's that you've got there?"

"It's a present for Roland," said Arren. "Is he up yet?"

"I think so, yeah," said the man.

"Thanks." Arren made for one of the smaller buildings. It had large windows, which had been opened to let the light in, and the doors opened easily when he pushed on them. He backed through, carrying the cage, and found himself in a big open room. Most of it was lined with pens, and in them were chicks. The place rang with their piping voices and the scuffling of talons on the wooden floor.

There was a huge griffin there, crouched in the middle of the room. She was old – her feathers were graying, her beak was chipped and one eye was whitened – but she stood up and came toward him at once, tail swishing. Arren stood still and let Eluna go forward. She loped toward the old griffin, moving confidently, and clicked her beak. The old griffin sniffed at her and then relaxed. "Eluna." She looked past her. "And Arren. Good morning. Who is that with you?"

"Good morning, Keth. This is Mark. He's, uh… he's a friend. Are you well?"

"I am," said Keth. She sat back on her haunches. "I am pleased to see you, Arren Cardockson. And you, Eluna, and I am pleased to meet you as well, Mark."

Arren bowed, signaling for Mark to do the same. "We're here to see Roland. Is he here?"

"I will call him," Keth said. She raised her head. _"Keth! Keth!"_

There was silence for a short while, and then a man emerged from a back room. He was short and stocky, and his once-yellow beard was graying. There was a griffin chick nestled in his arms. "Hello, what's this?" he asked, speaking griffish. He stopped when he saw Arren. "Arren Cardockson!" he said, and beamed. "And Eluna, of course! And who's your friend there?"

Arren went to meet him. "Hello, Roland. This is Mark; he's a new acquaintance. How are you?"

"In excellent form, thank you, lad." Roland scratched the griffin chick under the beak and put it back into its pen. "Poor little thing has a touch of scale. Should be alright, though, with a little care. So, what brings you here?" He saw the bandage on Arren's arm. "Oh dear, what happened to you?" He looked at Arren, and then at Eluna. "Has she bitten you?"

"There was a bit of a scrap this morning," said Arren. "We raided a smuggler's den and one of them fought back."

"Ah, I see," said Roland, relaxing. "A nasty business. So, what can I do for you?"

Arren's jaw tightened. "We found _this_ in with the rest of their loot." He pulled the cloth aside.

Roland froze. "Oh, dear gods." He took the cage from Arren and tore the cloth away, looking anxiously at the chick inside. It looked up at him and fluttered its wings. "Food?" it said.

Roland looked up. "Where did you find this?"

"In their cellar," said Arren. "With the rest of the crates and things. This was the only one, though; I checked through it all just to be safe."

"A red, by the looks of it," said Roland. "Seems to be in good health, thank Gryphus." He opened the cage and took the chick out, then set the cage on the floor. He examined the young griffin for a little while, and then it snuggled into his chest. "Roland," it muttered.

Roland turned to Arren. "Obviously one of mine. Thank you so much, Arren."

Arren nodded. "You're most welcome. What were they thinking, though?" he added.

Roland's face turned grim. "A griffin chick can fetch quite a high price if you know where to sell it."

Arren grimaced. "Well, then, that's something I'll have to look into, and shut it down if I can."

Next to him, Mark snorted. "Good luck with that," he said. Roland and Arren glared. "Don't look at me like that," said Mark, waving away their looks. "Anyone who can run a griffin smuggling business is also going to know how to keep their operation hidden. Someone like that is going to be very difficult to beat."

From the way the two Cymrians' expressions changed, Mark guessed they agreed with him, though they were obviously reluctant to admit it. "Nonetheless, it's something I have a duty to do," said Arren, resolute as always. "As Master of Trade, I have to deal with smugglers, and I _especially_ want to take down griffin smugglers. Something like that is definitely worth the effort." Eluna hissed in agreement.

Roland, meanwhile, was looking worried. "If you _are_ going to go ahead with this," he said, "be very careful, Arren. Men who deal in the thieving and smuggling of griffins are the worst kind of men. They're ruthless and have no morals. If you're going to try and shut them down, you have to be very cautious. They'll act almost like wild animals; when they're cornered or feel threatened, they become twice as dangerous. The biggest thing, then, is that they don't notice you're trying to shut them down. If they think you're coming for them, they'll most likely do one of two things: remove the threat by killing whoever is snooping around, or – if that option isn't available to them for some reason – they'll move their operation somewhere else. Both of those things will cause you to lose your shot at getting to them, so please be extra careful with an assignment like this, Arren. And if you're going to help him, Mark, then you need to do the same." Roland paused to let his words sink in.

Mark and Arren glanced at each other and nodded solemnly. "We understand," said Arren. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I'd better go. I have to report to Rannagon; he'll want to hear this from me first."

"Don't worry, lad," Roland said gently. "You won't get in trouble for this. The man Eluna killed was a griffin thief. In all honesty, he deserved worse. _And_ you saved the chick. Don't fret. All you have to is explain what happened. Rannagon will believe you. He's quite fond of you, you know. In fact, he told me – no, never mind. I'll leave you to find it out on your own. It's not my place to tell you. Now, off you go."

Arren and Mark bowed to Keth again before they left. "See you later, Roland."

"I do hope you shall. And say hello to Flell for me."

"I will," Arren said, and with that, Mark followed him and Eluna out of the hatchery.

"Do you need me to come with you to see Rannagon?" asked Mark, once they were back on Eagleholm's streets. "You know, to be a witness of sorts?"

Arren gave him an odd look. "Why, do you want to come?" he asked, though with a sly grin on his face.

Mark shook his head. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I was hoping to head down to the Red Rat, maybe catch a drink."

Arren nodded. "Good idea. I'll meet you there when I'm done seeing Rannagon. In the meantime, I'll ask Bran and some of my other friends to keep you company." He grinned. "I think you'll get on great."

Mark raised an eyebrow, but inwardly he was pleased. "Already introducing me to your friends, eh? I didn't realize our relationship had progressed that far."

Arren hesitated, unsure if he was being serious or just joking. In the end, he said, "You still haven't given me any reason not to trust you, and what you did today during the raid is enough reason to count you as a friend. Besides..." – his voice dropped – "there aren't enough people in the city who treat me the way you do: with no prejudice. Bran, my friend Gern, Flell and Roland are just about the only ones who are able to look past the pale skin and black hair and see a man that's just as much a man as anyone else."

Mark smiled and gave Arren a small punch on the shoulder. Then he turned and started to head off into the city. "Wait!" Arren called. "Do you need directions–?"

"Nope, I know where it is," said Mark, and jogged off into the city.

* * *

In truth, Mark only had a general idea of where the Sign of the Red Rat was. Many of the smaller details from _The Dark Griffin_ had begun to fade, such as the location of certain buildings within the city. It didn't help that usually, when Mark would come to a long descriptive passage in a book, he would just skim over it. But fortunately, using the rudimentary knowledge that he could still remember, he was able to find the tavern without too much trouble.

Once inside, it was easy for Mark to spot Bran's burly frame at a table in the back, sitting with a two people he thought he recognized. One was a boy, who looked several years younger than Mark. The other was a girl that appeared to be about his age. _That must be Gern and Flell,_ thought Mark, and then he shook his head at the sheer craziness of his whole situation. _This truly is the most bizarre thing I have ever heard of happening. How did I even get here?_ He shook his head to dispel those thoughts, and shoved his way through the tavern until he got to Bran's table.

Because Bran was sitting next to Gern with their backs to Mark, Flell was the first to spot the silver-clad man's approach. She whispered something to Bran, and he turned around and grinned as he saw Mark. He raised his pint. "C'mon, get over here, yeh lazy bastard!" he laughed. Flell rolled her eyes, and Mark smiled. Arren was right; Mark could tell he was going to enjoy getting to know them.

Instead of sitting in the empty seat on the bench next to Flell, Mark grabbed a chair from a nearby empty table and pulled it up to Bran's table. Flell raised an eyebrow, and Mark gave a playful wink. "That seat's reserved, isn't it?" he said.

There was a pause, and then Gern laughed. Flell cracked a smile. "Arren didn't say you had a sense of humor," said Gern, and just like that, it was as if the slight tension at the table had completely vanished.

Soon after that, the three friends were talking and joking with Mark as if they had known him for their whole lives. Mark found that he enjoyed talking with them, because he hadn't really had the opportunity to just talk with people since he had been pulled into the trilogy. He was grateful that the three of them were so open to him, and that they didn't seem to care that they hardly knew anything about him. They accepted him because they liked him, as with Arren.

The beer was good – if a little cheap-tasting – and the companionship was great, but Mark was careful not to drink too much. Although he trusted Bran, Gern, and Flell, he didn't want to accidentally reveal anything about himself. It wasn't time for that information to be divulged just yet.

When Arren came into the tavern several hours later, he found an intoxicated Bran laughing uproariously at something Mark had said. Even Gern, Flell, and Mark were a little tipsy by this point, and Mark had a huge grin on his face.

Mark looked up and when he saw Arren, his stupid grin widened even further. Bran saw the look through the tears in his eyes and turned around. "Arren!" he roared. "Get yer arse over here already!"

Arren smiled and sat in the empty seat next to Flell, the seat that Mark had left for him. Mark handed him a pint, and he took it. He looked at Gern and Bran, who were still laughing. "Well, you all seem to be getting along well," he commented.

Gern chuckled, while Flell and Bran's grins grew. "I tell you what, he's got the best sense of humor I've ever seen, sir," said Gern. Arren smiled again and sipped his beer.

Flell was the first to bring up the meeting. "How did it go with Father?" she asked anxiously.

Arren took a few more swigs before answering. "It was fine. He doesn't blame me; he understands that it was self-defense." Everyone at the table visibly relaxed, especially Flell. "But… I have to pay compensation to the man's family,' Arren added. 'Two hundred oblong."

Bran frowned. "Do yeh have that much?"

Arren shook his head. "No, but it's all right. Someone told me about a mission to catch a wild griffin that's been terrorizing some villagers down by the Coppertops. The reward from that plus the money I'll get for selling the griffin to the Arena will be more than enough to cover the debt." He took out a scroll of paper and handed to Bran, who read it and then passed it on. Gern did the same, until it got to Mark.

The icy grip of fear closed over Mark as he took the paper. _This is it,_ he thought. _The first choice I have to make. If I let Arren go, then Eluna will die; I'm certain of it. I could save her if I keep him from going. But should I?_ Mark didn't know. On the one hand, he wanted to save Eluna. He liked the white griffin. And it was Eluna's death that had effectively ruined Arren's life in the book and eventually led him into his decline and, later, his death. But on the other hand, he had no idea what would happen if Eluna survived the trip. She needed to die for Arren to eventually partner with Skandar and become the Shadow That Walked.

Everyone at the table was, of course, oblivious to Mark's internal conflict, and the conversation continued even though Mark had zoned out of it. Flell looked worried. "But you've never done anything like this before, have you?" she was saying. "How do you plan to capture it?"

"The man who told me about the mission also gave me a bottle of poison," said Arren. "I can coat my arrowheads with it. One direct hit, and it'll be sleeping like a baby."

It was Gern's turn to frown. "And who was the man who told you about it, sir?" he asked.

But Arren shook his head again. "He told me not to say. But I can tell you this: I trust him. He wasn't just some stranger off the street." He looked apologetically at Mark. "Er, no offense." Then he noticed that Mark had gone pale. "Are you alright?" he asked, and it somewhat pleased Mark to hear genuine concern in his voice.

He composed himself as quickly as he could and stood up. "Yeah," he said. "I think I just had one drink too many – I'm gonna head back to your house, Arren."

Bran, Gern, and Flell shared a laugh and Arren said, "Alright, I'll see you there when I get back. I hope you feel better."

Mark smiled. "Thanks guys. It's good to have friends like you." Then he turned and walked out of the Red Rat.

He got back to Arren's house as quickly as he could and collapsed into his hammock. He tried to think out his problem, but he already knew he had no choice: he had to let Eluna die. He couldn't risk making such a major change to the plot of _The Dark Griffin_ without knowing exactly what kind of repercussions there could be, and there was no way to be sure what those could be. Mark sighed and tried to put his troubles aside long enough to fall asleep. Eventually, finding comfort in the soft light of the rising moon, and he drifted off.

* * *

When Arren got back to his house that night, the moon was already up. As he walked into his – and now Mark's as well – bedroom, the cold white moonlight hit Mark's beautiful sword for a moment. The sword seemed to shine, as if it wanted more. But then a cloud covered the moon, and the room fell dark.

Mark was already asleep in his hammock, so Arren undressed and put on his nightclothes. As he passed by Mark's hammock in order to get to his own, he thought he heard Mark mutter two words in his sleep:

"Forgive me."


End file.
